Pressure
by Segmented Aura
Summary: When Mrs. Lovett comes home pale-faced and out of breath after an afternoon out shopping - but with no groceries in tow - she desperately informs Mr. Todd of an unbelievable occurence. Sweenett, movie-verse, R&R ! :D After 'A Little Priest.'
1. A Complication

To all readers, welcome and hello!! My name is Amy, and contrary to popular belief (what do you mean, 'popular'?) I am not new to ff . net. I have been here for years, reading and sometimes reviewing, and posting (in my opinion) crappy stories under other names and emails. What ones, you ask? Why, that's not important. But I've decided to come back here as a (hopefully) improved writer, so please read my stories, enjoy, and review!!

Disclaimer: Since I'm not feeling clever enough to come up with a witty disclaimer, I'll just type it backwards: .ddoT yeneewS nwo ton od yletinifed tsom I

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Sweeney Todd knew the sound of Mrs. Lovett's footsteps.

He knew the many variations of her footsteps, and the emotions that came with them.

For example, a bouncy jaunt usually took her up his steps, as she was almost always happy and eager to visit him; the only exception was when something, anything, of a jarring nature occurred in his shop. On those occasions, the baker's pace greatly increased; the seconds between each footfall were reduced to nothing, so spurred on by worry and anxiety was she.

Then there were the others. When she was working, serving customers – particularly during a rush – she was quick on her feet, her steps light and measured. She flitted nimbly from table to table, whether to deliver more ale or pies or merely to make conversation, but she was not rushed. She was simply good at what she did, and not only the baking aspect; she was incredibly social and chatty, which made her a brilliant people person as her job demanded – but the plain, foremost fact was that she loved being surrounded by others. Her walk at those times was always pleasurable.

Even in early morning, or on days when her business was closed, she never seemed to stop moving. She was always busy with something: caring for Toby (which actually encompassed quite a lot, even though the boy insisted he didn't need much taking care of – so as not to provide more work for his 'mum,' though his efforts were fruitless), grocery shopping, laundry (he thought with a slight prick of guilt of all of his bloody shirts, and the pains she must take to return them to pure white), baking and cooking, of course, and Heaven knew what else she was always running about doing down there…however, despite all the work, her steps managed a constant liveliness that he could not fathom.

Sweeney marveled that the baker could manage to find so many things to do in a single day; for him, most days consisted of polishing off customers and little else. This left much time to pace the floor, thinking of the judge's demise, and also of Lucy, Johanna, Anthony, Mrs. Lovett, and even Toby. The cycle was broken only by the aforementioned Mrs. Lovett – and, Sweeney often thought secretly to himself, thankfully so, for if it wasn't for her there interrupting the frequently downward spiraling train of his mind, he would certainly go mad.

She popped in for countless things, such as to bring him food and stick around to make sure he ate it; to pick up bloody laundry and bring it back within the week spotless; to coax him down for a trot about the open-air market; and commonly, to simply visit and say, check in on him, or chat (although talk at would be more accurate, as his own conversational skills were more than lacking). Now that he thought of it, he himself added much to her already busy schedule.

Indeed, the only time she ever seemed to slow down was at the close of a day; her footfalls grew heavy - each taking longer to land than the next – but even so, she pushed on. The barber knew for a fact that she wouldn't let herself rest until every dish was washed, every crumb swept, the floor and every table wiped down and everything returned to its proper place. Of course, she tucked Toby in long before she was finished, in spite of the child persisting that she go to bed while he completed the work – but of course, she never allowed it. Not that Sweeney Todd would ever spy on her during his many sleepless nights.

When everything was finally done, the baker's feet were almost literally dragging across the floor as she made her way to the bedroom. Regardless, though, by the next morning, her walk was bright and energized once more – no matter the amount of sleep she ended up getting.

Yes, Mr. Todd was definitely well-acquainted with Mrs. Lovett's footsteps; he always knew it was her before she entered, and furthermore, knew exactly how she was feeling at that moment.

His brow furrowed in confusion now as he heard her coming up. It was, of course, unmistakably Mrs. Lovett, but her footsteps came differently than he'd ever heard. They were coming down hard on the stairs, quick but clumsy; there was no pause between each footfall, but often they sounded uncoordinated, even stumbling.

He frowned, putting his friend in its place at his side and setting down the rag he'd been using to clean it, then turning in anticipation towards the door.

"Mr. Todd!" The desperate, near hysterical call came almost before Mrs. Lovett burst in, entrance bell jingling madly. Idly, Sweeney noted it was probably a good thing it had been a slow business day; he doubted the woman in front of him would have liked to have anyone else see her, what with the way she was looking at that instant. He raised an eyebrow at her disheveled appearance.

It looked as if she'd run from wherever she'd come from, if her wrinkled clothing, the dirty hem of her dress and her messy, disarrayed hair were any indication. The baker said nothing for several moments, leaning against the wall, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Curiously enough, the barber noticed, instead of the flushed cheeks that usually came with such obvious physical exertion, Mrs. Lovett was pale, deathly pale.

After watching her with only a mild curiosity about whatever it was that she apparently so urgently needed him for, Sweeney decided – several moments after it would have been proper to do so – that perhaps he ought to go over to her. Several short strides later, he was standing beside her. He lifted a hand hesitantly, to possibly lay it on her shoulder, her back, something – but then thought better of it, dropped his hand, and instead said, with no real hint that he really wanted to know, "What, Mrs. Lovett?"

Still gasping for air – she was no young thing, after all – said baker lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, very much horror-filled; although whether it was due to what she had to tell him or due to what his reaction would be (or, he considered, possibly both), he couldn't be sure.

"It's – it's J- Mr. Todd, it's J-" she managed to begin, but was cut off abruptly by a violent coughing fit; she hunched over herself slightly, hand grasping the doorframe for support. Sweeney Todd surveyed her impassively, offering no assistance or inquiry towards her condition; alternately, he chose to consider her few, not-so-telling words while she pulled herself together. What 'J-' could have so keenly brought her to –

His thoughts halted immediately. He stared down at the still-hacking baker; his eyes were dark, hands trembling, cold fear clenching around his shuddering heart. Immediately, he seized Mrs. Lovett by the shoulders, everything about him harsh as he shouted, "What? What?? Johanna…is it Johanna?! _Tell me!_" He shook her to emphasize his commands, but although she had reduced to mere wheezing, she was still unable to answer promptly.

"It's – it's -" she began again, then paused to take a large gulp of air.

Frustrated and enraged by her slowness to respond – despite the fact that his rough treatment of her probably wasn't helping – he shoved the damnable woman against the door, causing it to slam sharply shut, his eyes burning into hers and demanding an explanation. At last – and most likely due to fright should she not reply quickly – she regained her ability to speak, though her whole frame was quivering horribly.

She shook her head rapidly back and forth, finally letting out the truth in a distressed whisper, one that he had to lean in close to catch. "It's – it's Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford, they're both – both of them, dead –"

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Hope this was a good, interesting first chapter, enough to make you review and come back for the next one!! Also, since I'm now going all-out on this writer thing: if you are a fan of Fruits Basket, please go read the first chapter I have up of my Yuki/Machi story!! And if there are any Inuyasha fans out there, I have a Miroku/Sango story in the works, but not posted yet!! -shamelessly promoting- ;D

It's good to be back here!! I hope you all welcome me!!

-as a note: for this story, the Fruits Basket story, and most likely the Inuyasha story, I will be posting practically the same AN at beginning and end of the first chapters (with a few minour name tweaks), just so it's the same explanation all around about myself/my stories, but after that, they'll change. So if you like all three of the fandoms/pairings I'll be writing for so far, if you've read one AN, you've basically read them all. When I post any other new stories/chapters after those, though, I won't do that :D-

Till next time!!

Lovelove,

Amy


	2. Reason

:D!! So happy to have received all of your reviews!! Never fear, the wait is over!! And I think I should be getting these chapters up fairly quickly, so rejoice!! :is all excited:

**Disclaimer:** Not at all, my good sir!

**Mini-Recap: **_She shook her head rapidly back and forth, finally letting out the truth in a distressed whisper, one that he had to lean in close to catch. "It's – it's Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford, they're both – both of them, dead –"_

--

The room seemed to resonate with the impact of these words, despite their soft-spoken nature; it took a few beats for them to sink in, and when they did, Todd released Mrs. Lovett – she seemed to slump against the wall in relief – and stumbled several steps back, as startled as if she had slit his throat.

Raw shock was evident in his features, but aside from that, it appeared as if he did not yet know how to react. Still, it did not take him long to ask the obvious, heated question: "How?"

The word came out unsure and hoarse, and he was surprised at his own voice; regardless, he waited, with baited breath, for the rest of the information he so craved.

"Pisoned(1), they say…but the officials declared it some sort of accident. Love, I'm so sorry…" Mrs. Lovett was nothing but gentle, in her voice, her expression, and the steps she took towards him to offer comfort – but Sweeney would have none of it.

He backed away on unsteady feet until he made contact with his chair, where his fingers found and curled around the arm. At that moment, he felt nothing but hollowness – he was certain his eyes must be quite blank.

"Mr. T…?"

They were dead, both dead, those who had wronged him and his family; the life they were so undeserving of taken from them…he should feel satisfied.

"Mr. T., don't look that way…i-it's fitting, if you think about it…I mean, wot with the way…"

But his razor was not stained with blood. He was not standing over a freshly mutilated corpse, relishing the memory of the last moments before death, of seeing the _look in the Judge's eyes as his life was extinguished_, and by the one he'd unfairly persecuted…not experiencing a vengeance finally realized.

Sweeney didn't notice Mrs. Lovett getting closer, nor did he notice the tenderness with which she took his hand into both of hers – indeed, he was not aware of her at all. His gaze was fixed on nothing, his ears unhearing, his flesh unfeeling right at that moment.

"Wot with the way…y-your Lucy…" She faltered, biting her lip, looking and feeling very much stricken with herself; she wished dearly that she could suck back in the words that were sure to not be taken kindly to by her Mr. Todd.

But quite thankfully, he was not listening to her, too wrapped up in his own desperate, frantic thoughts; however, one would not feel so from the way his eyes returned to focus, then locked onto none other than her, a none-too-welcoming look filling them, mere seconds after she had spoken. Nellie Lovett certainly didn't feel so; she dropped his hand and took one wavering step backwards, her own eyes displaying a trembling uneasiness.

"M-Mr. Todd…?" She questioned, her voice shaking slightly from anxiety as she looked back at him. She couldn't find it in her to move when he shifted forward so he was standing a few scant inches away, those currently very unfriendly eyes still gazing down at her.

"Mrs. Lovett…" Her name came out as a growl, and despite the possible risks of the situation, the aforesaid couldn't suppress a pleasurable shiver at the way he'd said it.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her, but he did nothing else, and Nellie was suddenly struck with the notion that perhaps she had underestimated his self-control; after all, it didn't seem as if he was about to go into an uncontrollable rage. Of course, he had been shocked at the revelation, and sure, the expression on his face wasn't exactly affable, but he seemed rather calm despite the circumstances. Maybe she had been wrong to be fearful.

Greatly reassured by this idea, the fear disappeared, leaving only the sympathy; her eyes softened. This poor man… obtaining revenge against that vile Judge and the equally vile Beadle was the single most important object in his life, and now there was no chance that it would ever be. He must be so lost now, so confused…Mrs. Lovett's heart went out to her poor, ill-fated Mr. Todd.

"Oh, Mr. T…it's not so bad, you'll be alright…we'll be alright, you'll see…"

She reached loving hands upward to take the barber's face between them – an unusually bold move, but one she felt appropriate due to the situation – but with a movement too quick to catch, he had wrapped his large hands around her tiny wrists. Her heart skipped a beat at the action, her eyes searching his face; however, his expression hadn't changed.

A query towards his well-being was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it when Mr. T. opened his mouth, waiting on tenterhooks to hear what he had to say.

"He…he was supposed to be _mine_."

The words were spoken quietly, but Mrs. Lovett sensed the underlying danger immediately – after all, she was sure she knew Sweeney Todd better than he knew himself. Alarmed, she attempted to tug herself away from him, but his grip on her wrists tightened painfully.

"He should have died at _my hand_…" His voice had risen slightly, his eyes growing ferocious; Nellie hurriedly attempted to pacify him, her own voice cracking slightly as she spoke.

"Now, now, love, relax…the important thing to remember is that he's gone and dead now, can't hurt nobody else, can't hurt Johanna…it's all done with –"

"_No!_" he roared, pushing her away with such force that she tripped over her skirts and landed hard on the floor. Wincing, she sat herself up, but didn't dare stand as she watched Mr. Todd storm over to the large window, slamming his fists savagely against a pane. He slammed them again, then hunched over, muttering things to himself that the baker could only catch snatches of, much of which included the words 'Lucy' and 'vengeance.'

Despite Mrs. Lovett's overwhelming urge to go over to him and soothe him in his obvious torment, she was smart enough not to; she knew better. She could only hope, at this point, that what she had already experienced would be the extent of his rage.

Unfortunately, her hope would remain unfulfilled, for after several long moments, the demon barber finally turned around and fastened his dark, menacing glare onto her frozen form. Her eyes did not miss his hand reaching for the cut-throat he kept constantly at his hip as he stalked over to her; she couldn't restrain a gasp when he clutched her by the upper arm, yanking her brutally to her feet.

From both the severe motion and the currently weak state of her legs, Mrs. Lovett was certain she would've tumbled back onto the floorboards had it not been for Sweeney Todd's firm grip; as it was, she merely struggled to obtain balance, her free hand flailing instinctively for a steady hold to no avail.

She had just barely regained her footing when said barber pulled her forward roughly, towards him – so close that as she looked up, their faces were but a breath's width away. It would have been a perfect likeness of one of her daydreams – except for the razor hovering in her peripheral vision, drawing dangerously closer with every second that passed.

"Mr. Todd – M-Mr. Todd, there's no need for…" He wasn't hearing her. She could tell from his eyes that he wasn't hearing her. Nellie's panic mounted. This was different. This wasn't like the last time he had been so angry. The last time, there had been hope. The judge was sure to come another day. But now…

She wasn't sure what to think. She wasn't sure what to do. And she was not sure what ideas were going through his mind. The one thing she knew, with full conviction, was that she did not look forward to finding out.

Despite her racing pulse, her scrambled mind, the baker was level-headed enough to suppose that she should feel lucky; it could be far worse. After all, he had yet to take her to the chair that could, as she knew so well, prove deadly. Beyond all reason, this thought was enough to ease much of her fright. He wouldn't kill her. He couldn't possibly –

Mrs. Lovett inhaled sharply at the sudden touch of the blade, pressed securely at the junction of her neck and shoulder, and she immediately returned attention to Mr. T. There was a formidability in the shadows filling his expression; her newfound security notwithstanding, everything about the barber right then filled her with a dreadful apprehension. His voice was low and ominous as he spoke.

"_You_ stopped me."

Mrs. Lovett's blood ran cold at these words, the venomous, accusing tone. Much as she believed that her Mr. Todd would not kill her, she wasn't foolish enough to presume he would not harm her.

But he wasn't making any sense. Nellie didn't pause to remind herself that at times like these, Sweeney Todd's thoughts were not sensible at all; there was simply no time to do so. She had to act quickly.

"Mr. T., I – I don't understand –"

"How many times did I want to go after him in the night? Sneak under the cover of darkness to his house and wake him…murder him in his supposed security…" During this mild ramble, the demonic barber's pupils had dilated, his eyes appearing blacker than ever, filling with a bloodlust for a dead man; Mrs. Lovett shivered.

She licked her suddenly dry lips before responding in what she hoped was a strong voice. "Now, Mr. Todd, I've told you before, it was simply too risky, you could've been so easily caught" – her words were almost overlapping each other; she had to stop, gather her thoughts, but her mouth wouldn't close – "And over the bloody old judge, dear, it wasn't -"

"And you _stopped me_. You _always_ stopped me." A snarl was on his lips, his glare consuming her; the baker was finally able to silence herself, becoming all the more aware of the razor at her throat. As if on cue, the sharp edge dug in more deeply; Nellie was certain she could feel her skin straining as it threatened to break, her pulse hammering against the metal.

Quickly, she forced herself to an attempt at reasoning with him – sounding not very reasonable at all, but instead speaking with an increasing pitch and volume. "Now, love, it was for your own good, you know that. If you were discovered, if someone saw you – you would've been thrown in jail, or worse, sentenced to death -"

"And I would've hanged if it meant doing away with him one second sooner!" he bellowed, completely beyond rationality now; the barber swung the baker 'round, towards – she realized with heart-stopping terror – that dreaded chair. However, his illogical rage had thrown him off, so instead of landing her soundly in the seat, the small of her back was smacked into the arm; she cried out in pain, so very, very frightened.

It was only then that Mrs. Lovett began to struggle; she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, she couldn't allow herself to be sat in that deadly thing. She would never strike out against precious Mr. T. – the idea was unthinkable – but escape was an entirely different matter.

With her free hand, she shoved against Mr. Todd's chest with all of her might – more considerable than one would think, due to the labours she performed on a daily basis – and simultaneously pitched herself away from him.

The element of surprise worked in her favour, enough so that she was able to break free, and for the second time she went down hard; she was most definitely going to be sore the next day.

Before she could blink – much less rise and run for the door – Mr. Todd was looming in front of her, looking angrier and more murderous than ever. Nellie's breath caught; she made to scoot backwards, to at least put some distance between them, but then he was _right there_, at her level, inches away.

This time, he allowed no room for escape; his unoccupied hand grabbed her by the throat, effectively pinning her against the wall. His razor followed soon after, meeting where her neck curved into her chin. She couldn't move; air was growing increasingly difficult to come by. Nonetheless, she managed to gasp out, "Mr. Todd - !"

Her hands scrabbled at his in an attempt to free herself but to no avail; she could feel the pressure of both his fingers and the blade, and she closed her eyes in agonized defeat, waiting for her inevitable end –

When out of nowhere, it seemed, a small, fearful voice pushed its way past the panic of her clouded mind.

"M-Mrs. Lovett -?"

Distracted and disgruntled by the sudden interruption, Mr. T. turned his head towards the doorway, where the voice had come from – his razor falling to his side, his grip mercifully loosened on Mrs. Lovett's neck enough for her to gulp in air – and said baker was able to glance past him to see who had appeared. Upon spotting who it was, Nellie paled visibly, her heart thumping almost painfully against her ribcage: _Toby_.

--

(1) – probably obvious, but…it's an old-fashioned way to spell 'poisoned.'

Dun dun DUN!! I probably shouldn't be saying this about my own story, but I am REALLY enjoying how it's going!! I hope you guys are, too!! I'm quite proud of this chapter. :) Please read, review, and return for chapter three!!

Till next time!!

Lovelove,

Amy


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